Red
by Shizuku Tsukishima749
Summary: -Response to Episode 5, "Schooled."- Perhaps Clark's allusion wasn't an insult after all.  For truly, Dick has never met another with a bigger heart than Bruce. Two-shot.
1. Red

_A/N: _Looks like this turned into another 'Wide Open,' in the sense that Superboy is the main issue, I wasn't going to include the action in this chapter, but then decided it'd be too fun to pass up...as well as the fact that this is the action chapter, and we don't get to the core of the matter until next chapter... XD

I've actually been working on this for days (stayed up writing most of this chapter till three in the morning last night on a writing buzz XD) in between my summer AP homework (it kills to be smart, I tell you... XP), but I've gotten weeks/months' worth of work done in six days, and I only have about...755 pages, annotating of those pages, a map with illustrations and such, and weekly news crap left, so... XP _Fun_...

**Basis: **There was one part of Episode 5, "Schooled," that had me both in love and puzzled. When Bruce is talking with Clark at the diner, Clark answers Bruce's claim that Superboy needs him with, "_No_! He needs..._you_. He needs (enter unintelligible phrasing here)." I could never figure out what he said right there, no matter how many times I played it on YT! XD

Then, I found someone who randomly transcribed the exchange and found out Clark said, "He needs _Red_." I'd never heard that expression before, so I asked my parents what it meant, and between the three of us (they'd never heard it either), we thought perhaps Clark was smack-complimenting Bruce's heart. (It's the color red, and it _is_ complimenting something that sets Bruce apart from Clark, especially in a delicate situation like Superboy's** - **not to say that Clark doesn't have a heart, of course, though he does seem rather cruel in this situation...but that's another matter. XD)

Thus, this single phrase - word, really (and something of the rest of their conversation, which I've always loved) - is the foundation for this two-shot!

_For the record_, all criminals in this chapter are random drug-mobsters/security details hired by the higher-ups, etc., that I created, though I got several direct ideas for said higher/highest-ups from all of the crime shows I watch (CSI, Law & Order, Memphis Beat -just found, but pretty good-, Mentalist -haven't seen much, but really like-, BBC Sherlock...you name it)! XD So anything remotely familiar probably is!

**Note for readers of 'Bullseye': **Chapter nine _is coming_, I swear! I've been so caught up in the last few months of school (_I got a B in A.P. Physics! YES!_), AP homework, and the worst writer's block _ever _(which really freaked me out because I've never had it before, in all of my nine of writing!), but as soon as I've got all of my studies taken care of, I should be able to get cracking! T.T _Please forgive me for taking forever_!

_Disclaimer: _I do not own Young Justice. The awesome people at DC do (although I'm still peeved about the freaking reboot crap... XC), as well as CN...and anyone else affiliated! (The leaked ep, 'Targets,' by the way, was _awesome_! Only thing that made it not so asterous was the lack of Rob... T.T Oh, _and _the mole confusion... I know it's probably Art, but I have this creeping feeling that it's Kaldur for some reason... I don't know... XD)

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><p><strong><span>Red<span>**

They're on stakeout when Robin finally decides to bring it up.

To anyone in the League, Batman would seem mostly the same as usual tonight—a tad more on edge perhaps, but certainly no less skilled or less focused. Basically, right as gloomy skies in Gotham.

Nevertheless, Robin isn't _in _the JLA. He's part of the _Young_ Justice League, soon to be its leader, but that's not the same thing and also not the point right now.

As the Barman's partner, the billionaire's ward, and Bruce's son, Dick knows when his Father's behaving oddly.

He glances at the man out of the corner of his eye and cannot help it when the hairs on the back of his neck stand erect. There's a certain glint to the Batman's eyes (Robin can sense it, cowl or no), a feral arch to his grip on the roof's raised perimeter, and a frustrated stiffness to his silence.

Yep. Bruce is _definitely_ off-kilter.

Curious, Robin turns to face the Dark Knight, but waits a few minutes to gather his thoughts and go over the evidence again. Determining that he's still in the right, he opens his mouth to speak.

"If you're going to ask if something's wrong, don't," the gruff voice counteracts, its owner making another sweep of the area. "It has nothing to do with the mission, Robin."

The Caped Crusader raises his cowled eyes to meet his domino-masked protégé's, the smallest flicker of a smile ghosting across his face in reassurance.

But Robin is not entirely convinced. Yes, Batman has been troubled some nights, protective others, but he never lets his feelings show as blatantly as this. Something must really have him whelmed…

Then, it hits him, and he has to stop himself from cackling in glee lest he give away their position. Maybe whatever-it-is _doesn't_ pertain to the mission, but it's what's _underlying _that's key!

Whether the man himself noticed it or not, in those two sentences Batman's voice took on a coarse pitch, his words just slightly more clipped than normal. Pair that with said particular tone always meaning the Bat's annoyed and that _lately _his greatest pain has kept residence with a certain stubborn-as-all, red-and-blue Boy Scout...!

Inwardly, Robin snickers and lets his maniacal laughter reign. Sometimes he thinks Bruce has taught him _too_ well!

"You talked to Clark, didn't you?" There is the screeching of a car alarm and hushed shouting from the deserted warehouse lot down below, and Batman sends Robin a sideways look as he jumps down to meld with the shadows. A viciously smirking Boy Wonder perches on the edge of the roof, expertly twirling his bo staff. "All right, old man, I can take a hint!" He follows his mentor's example and lands beside him silently, both of them being sure to take advantage of the cover the dark alley provides. "But after we turn up the aster in here, you're _all_ mine!"

From their vantage point, the Dynamic Duo takes careful inventory once more. Two pack vans with four people between them (two drivers, two passengers: the bosses), ten goons with guns on each of the trucks' ramps, sixteen manning the shipment, and another armed twenty in the warehouse for security purposes. Same count as on the roof. Nothing askew. Piece of cake.

Tossing a lopsided grin toward his darker counterpart, Robin feels the adrenaline poised to pulse in his veins. His muscles tighten in anticipation, and he can feel the goose bumps rising all over.

Finally, without a sound, Batman is off, leaving Robin to tackle his own agenda. Bring on the baddies!

Using the surrounding buildings' shadows to his advantage, Robin heads straight for the warehouse, throwing fifteen batarangs in rapid-fire succession. He watches with satisfaction as the many light bulbs shatter and the glass rains down upon the startled armed men inside.

Without missing a beat, he flits to the control panel off to the side of the warehouse door, punching in the lock-down code he's had memorized for years. (When he'd first been starting out, Batman had forced him to learn every code for every warehouse in downtown Gotham, these being the prime places for criminal activity. How right Bruce had turned out to be...)

Just before the heavy metal door slides downward with a sharp _whoosh!_, the windows and backdoors coming after, he adds a handful of sleeping-gas pellets to the chaotic mix inside. For a few moments the men cry out and shoot futilely at the bulletproof door. About ten seconds more, and all is quiet. Chuckling eerily, he calls, "Nighty-night, boys!"

The sounds of gunshots, strangled yells, and flesh on flesh snag his attention as they seem to get louder all of a sudden, and he whirls to find his mentor being ambushed by numerous gunmen. Robin isn't worried—the Bat's handled much worse, both with his partner and with the League—and he can sense that his mentor has this situation covered. Besides, he still has a role to play.

Taking a running start, the Boy Wonder flips onto the top of one of the vans and makes his way to the edge, just above the driver's side window. He'd seen the crook dangling his cigarette-holding arm out the window when he'd pulled up, and said window hadn't been closed yet. Robin grins evilly and rubs his hands together. His loss...!

Wedging his bo staff securely between the thick roof-hatch handle and the reinforced "radio" (_police scanner_) antennae, Robin stands on the side of the weapon farthest from the window. Gripping the arm tightly, he moves as quickly and fluidly as his years of acrobatics and training with the Dark Knight will allow. Bending over backward, he controls the centripetal force about his body and flings himself through the window, hurtling into the four cowards plotting there.

The passenger's side door is forced open by the harsh blow, and all but the acrobat land ungracefully on the pavement below. It doesn't take the men too long to recover, however, and within seconds Robin is dodging bullets and close-combat moves all at once.

These men, for all of their shiny weapons and supposed skills, are actually pretty sorry when it comes to doing their own grunt work—the composition of this drug ring is nothing but a gang of loud-mouthed, tough-acting thugs, their bosses even more so; the _real_ threat is the security detail they've hired for tonight—and Robin bets they couldn't land a blow or a bullet if their lives depended on it.

"You haven't been taking a bite out of your own pay-dirt, have you?" A shot strikes the ground several inches off of his foot, and he smirks as he flips up, kicks the gun from the shooter's hand, and delivers a swift heel to the back of the head. "'Cause I've fought _clowns _with more game than you!"

Two of the three remaining men blanch at the mention of the Joker and Harley, let alone in sudden remembrance of Robin having met and outmatched the nutcases in combat loads of times (he keeps forgetting they're not from Gotham; they don't know the Dynamic Duo's exploits as well). They scatter before anything more can be dealt.

But the third, brave and with the stature of a building, decides to play stupid and try his luck. Robin cracks his knuckles. Technically, he _had _given the poor guy a chance to save himself. He just hadn't taken it seriously.

Motioning for the man to bring it on, the thug charges and barrages Robin with a flurry of well-placed punches and kicks. The thirteen-year-old barely has time to dodge most of them.

_Okay_…so maybe he'd underestimated _this _guy (who, come to think of it, hadn't actually fought back with the other three before…), but the _other_ guys really had been wimps!

Just managing to avoid a wallop to the head, Robin lashes back with a kick to both legs, the retractable knives in the toes of his boots slicing skin. The man cries out and lunges for the child, but the Boy Wonder darts through his legs.

With the dealer at his heels, Robin dashes for the warehouse's brick wall and runs up it, waiting for the satisfying _crash!_ to commemorate his stuck-landing. A moment passes, and a sick feeling starts bubbling up in his stomach. Why does it feel like he's just made one of the biggest mistakes of his thirteen short years?

About facing, the barrel of a gun meets him dead-center at point-blank range.

He gulps.

Ah... And _that _would be his answer.

White-hot panic flashes through him, and the back of his neck begins to sweat as the hairs there stand on end and never falter.

Inwardly, even as his brain buzzes a trillion miles per second to try to think of some way to get out of this, he berates himself for not keeping his head in the game. He _knows _better than to underestimate his opponent, _knows _to keep in mind that things aren't always what they seem! Bruce has _taught _him both of these things extensively!

This all comes to a halt as the man, his brown-almost-red eyes looking demonic in the full-moon light in glaring down at the teenaged crime-fighter, does not hesitate to release the safety on his semi-automatic pistol.

He _has_ to get out of this! He has to _stop _looking at the gun, _stop _seeing his life flash before his eyes (he _won't _follow in his and Bruce's parents' footsteps, _can't _and _will not _make Bruce relive the worst day of his life through his son), has to _breathe _and keephishead_ clear _and _think _if he doesn't want to d—!

And it is at this moment that a shadow overtakes them. Eyes wide and heart about to beat out of his chest, Robin snaps up in search of his mentor.

Only to find no one there. Instead, he sees the moon being partially obscured by a large, round mass…

A beam zips its way onto the boy's face unbidden. A lunar eclipse! That's _it_! Robin's grin treads madness' border. Thank you, night-vision mask capabilities!

All too aware of just how far he's pushing fate's envelope right now (he knows if Bruce weren't so busy with his own baddies he'd be furious at Robin for being so reckless), the Boy Wonder hikes one foot flat on the wall and kicks off in an upward double back flip, missing the first bullet by mere millimeters.

Running two steps down the wall toward the gang boss and dodging limited-visibility-badly-aimed bullets all the while, Robin arch-dives to sail over his assailant's head and chooses this as the perfect time to strike.

Reaching down the instant he breaches the man's front, he grabs hearty fistfuls of the back of the boss's high-grade shirt and, using all of his strength and momentum, heaves his attacker over his shoulders and onto the rightfully unforgiving asphalt.

The impact ripples through—feet first, then legs, stomach, torso, and head—and the man's out cold. Robin renders the gun and any other weapon he finds on him obsolete before taking a swift glance up at the sky.

The eclipse will last for a few minutes yet—five minutes and ten seconds more, if his calculations are correct. Thank goodness it started when it did, too. He can't even bear to _think _about what might have happened if—if he'd—!

His ears prick at the sounds of a brawl, and immediately he comes down from his victorious high. In the heat of everything, he'd forgotten: _Batman_!

Racing in his mentor's direction, he stops short in seeing a sea of unconscious men with the Bat in the middle. There are a last ten still attempting to knock down the World's Greatest Detective.

Robin chuckles darkly. Too bad for them the Night has a not-so-secret weapon: his son! Raucous laughter echoes all around, and a moment later Robin, beam blinding, lands beside his adoptive Father. "Miss me?"

The Dark Knight does not answer with words, but the half-amused grin is response enough. With that, the Dynamic Duo fights back-to-back, Robin playing with his adversaries like they're his food while Batman is all scowls and growls (minus the flicker of a smile or chuckling hum his young partner elicits).

Eventually, however, somehow or another, the two become separated.

And this is where further trouble enters into the equation.

"What, it gets a little dark and suddenly you guys can't fight well enough to be worth our time?" Robin taunts, ducking under a hit meant for his head and returning with a driving steel-toed boot to the chin. "I have to say, I'm rather _whelmed_..."

His immediate assailant, one of the security details for this job, wipes the blood from his lip and spits out a tooth, and when he grins an involuntary shudder runs the length of the thirteen-year-old's spine. This is just _not _his night…

"Those are some strong words, runt," a claw-like hand darts out to grab hold of Robin's front quicker than the boy can blink, and the man yanks the teen forward until their noses are almost touching, "and I have more than half a mind to make you eat 'em."

Now that he's close enough Robin can see the night-vision specs outlining the man's dark goggles (at night? That should have been a tip-off right there!), and the blood rushes from his face. This guy's been _toying _with him…!

The attacker raises his free arm above their heads, and in the waning moonlight a dagger (he'd lost his gun earlier in the fight) flashes menacingly. Robin's heart jumps into his throat for the second time this evening. Yeah…_definitely _not his night…

But he's not going down without one heck of a fight.

Tightly gripping the man's wrist with both hands and pulling toward himself while he brings his legs in close, Robin aims a powerful kick for the man's solar plexus. When the knife switches targets and goes for his legs (just like he planned), Robin twists his body to the left so the knife misses the entry point. Momentarily safe from being stabbed, he pulls his legs in again and throws all of his weight in the direction his body's facing, cradling the captured wrist to his chest to ensure the assailant cannot escape.

They topple over, the side of the hired attacker's head ricocheting off the concrete just as Robin releases the appendage and twists the slightest bit so his own fall ends in a mostly-smooth barrel roll. Throwing out his hands and front flipping onto his feet at a safe distance, the Bird has a batarang at the ready when he turns to face the man once more.

Kicking the knife far away, he crouches down a few paces back. He'll be ready this time if the worm tries anything.

The younger of the Dynamic Duo waits for several seconds, but though the enemy tries to get to his feet several times the disorientation from a probable concussion is too great. All the same, Robin can feel devil-eyes on him, and he glares heatedly at his would-be killer. A smug, toothy grin is all he receives in return before the man's head lolls to the side. He'll be out for a while.

Standing slowly, Robin takes a moment to look around. Batman's taking on the last four guys by himself. Well, where's the sportsmanship in that?

Zipping behind one of them, Robin swipes the feet out from under him and jabs a few pressure points on his arms. Whipping the gun out of his hands and throwing it somewhere behind him, the Boy Wonder easily flips the fighter over onto his back despite his struggling and karate chops his neck. One down.

Popping back up at his mentor's side, Robin chirps, "Can't let you have all the fun, now, can we?"

Dodging a strike to the chest, Batman narrows his eyes and hums deep in the back of his throat. Instantly, Robin hits the deck. He knows what that means: Bruce grows weary of _playing_.

As if performing a handstand, the Dark Knight spins a wide three hundred and sixty degrees, feet flying and hitting target dead-center. He makes sure to knock out all but one. This will be his interrogation subject.

Robin, meanwhile, works on tying up the others, including those snoring in the warehouse. Soon enough, all fifty are accounted for, and while his older counterpart is busy the Boy Wonder makes the call to Commissioner Gordon.

By the time he's finished, Batman's tied up his 'business relation' and waits for him beside the Batmobile. As he runs over, he can feel his adoptive Father's protective gaze on him, and Dick can do naught but conjure a smile.

"Relax, Father Hen," he teases gently, spread-eagling and even turning around slowly to prove his point. "I'm fine." His face softens when he senses that the blue eyes he can't see believe otherwise, let him know that the loving Father and fierce protector in Bruce saw everything that happened here tonight. Reaching across his body, Dick takes his Father's left hand and squeezes, rubbing soothing circles on its back with his thumb. "I promise, Batman. It came a little close, but everything turned out okay. You've taught me to take care of myself, and if tonight proves anything, it's how much you've succeeded!" He grins cheekily and raises a palm, full-on beaming when his Father finally cracks, smiling, and completes the high-five. "Don't worry. I'll be the first to tell you if you start slipping."

Bruce chuckles and ruffles his son's hair, cuffing him lightly upside the head in finish as he jumps into the Batmobile, Robin laughing and somersaulting behind. The duo makes for home, being sure to call Alfred on the way.

"So," Robin starts, curious, "what'd Mr. '_Dis_aster' say?"

"Mr. Reynolds Hawthorne's right-hand man," Batman breathes. Robin's eyebrows shoot to his hairline. They've been searching for that mob-drug boss for the past five weeks! "The other three were _their _undermen, and the rest were the usual dealers and breakers. Turns out this is the end of Hawthorne's jurisdiction. It stretches all the way to East End."

Robin's eyes widen. "But that means he controls at least a quarter of Gotham!"

Batman nods grimly. "He's also said to see a lot of plastic surgeons, underground ones who'll make him look like anybody. My talker said he's like a ghost. He can be sitting right next to a guy, and the other wouldn't know until he's either dead or left psychologically disturbed. Supposedly, that's his method for getting all of these lackeys under his belt: he stalks them, learns absolutely everything about them, and then proceeds to use something particularly incriminating to coerce them into doing his dirty work."

Robin groans. "So basically it's same old, same old, huh? Anything about a location? His lackeys? The surgeons?"

The Caped Crusader shakes his head. "At the moment, nothing we can investigate before morning. Or, for that matter, without Jim and the rest of the GCPD breathing down our necks for not having enough 'hard evidence.'" Batman tosses his young partner a wry grin. "In the meantime, we'll be keeping a closer eye on the East End, as well as listening in on some of Hawthorne's activities. I planted some bugs back at the warehouse and on some of the men."

The Boy Wonder nods, quickly picking up on the logic in his mentor's thinking. "The criminal always returns to the scene of the crime, and most of those dealers were homeless, so they won't be changing their clothes or taking them off to bathe any time soon."

Batman smiles, proud and impressed. "You paid attention, I see."

Robin cackles briefly, wrinkling his nose. "You kidding? How could you _not _smell them?"

The Dark Knight of Gotham just chuckles, shaking his head in a mock-hopeless manner. "What am I going to do with you?"

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><p><em>AN: _Thanks so much for reading! We'll get into the Clark-Bruce messiness next chapter, promise!


	2. Of Love

_A/N: So _sorry for the long wait, everyone! My cousins came from across the country and stayed for a week, and then I was working so hard on my summer homework after they left (all finished now! Yay!)...and besides, writer's block was evil... But here we are anyway! Onward we go!

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><p>For several miles, the drive is lapsed in a comfortable silence. Batman is pretty much on autopilot while lost in thought (from the slightest pinch to the man's nose, Robin would say it's more about Clark than their criminal), and Robin stares straight ahead with arms casually folded behind his head.<p>

They come to a familiar, close-to-home turnabout, and Robin sits up straighter suddenly. Only now, in winding down from his adrenaline high, does he remember the conversation he's been after all night. Turning to his mentor, he waits for the Dark Knight to come back to reality fully.

When he does, the Boy Wonder has this to say: "That bad, huh?"

A dry huff-laugh and a grim smile. "Sometimes I wonder if I've—"

"Taught me too well?" Robin finishes, cheeky smile allowing more than a hint of gentleness. He shrugs playfully. "I tend to wonder the same thing."

Given a moment, though, his smile fades. Seriousness sets in once more.

Batman growls lightly, eyes narrowing as his hands grip the steering wheel tighter. He opens his mouth to speak, then stops. For it is not without humor (or mercy) that one of the Batcave's secret passageways opens up in front of them.

Once sheltered from prying eyes, the seatbelts retract and the hood slides back to reveal Alfred waiting to greet them.

"From your expressions, I wager the criminals are under lock and key?"

Hopping out of the Batmobile in unison with Bruce who steps out on the other side, Dick grins maniacally.

"All but one of the ringleaders and their lackeys were _lame_—" the secret-Batman shoots him a stern look, and the color of humility stains the protégé's cheeks, "—but no denying the security detail they hired was pretty formidable." The gleam that steels Bruce's eyes does not go unnoticed by his Bird, whose smile softens and turns ever more mischievous at once. "We made 'em feel the _dis_ in disaster, though!"

Bruce's expression loosens in light of his son's mirth, and Alfred, who burns with an infinite knowledge of his older charge, clears his throat.

"I see. Well, _I_ am just happy to have you both returned to me in one piece." As he says this he examines them with his keen eyes, exchanging a glance with Bruce before passing on to the Manor's youngest. "I trust your bruises and nicks are not _too_ dreadfully painful, Master Dick?"

Dick peers up into the wise, twinkling eyes of the old butler and sends a bit of his own sparkle back.

"'Course not, Alfie! Who do you take me for?" The gypsy performs a one-handed handstand with a cartwheel and several back-and-front-handsprings mixed in. "Your Average Joe?"

The British man's eyes brim over with barely-contained amusement, the laugh lines around his mouth crinkling the way Dick loves. "Such a sacrilegious thought wouldn't dare to cross my mind, young Master."

Bruce steps forward to set a warm hand on his faithful friend's shoulder.

"All right, Alfred, we've kept you up long enough. Why don't you head upstairs and get some sleep? If there's anything Dick and I can't handle on our own," though they all know there isn't much chance of that, "we'll be sure to wake you."

Alfred nods. "As I know well, sir." He bows to them both, smiling secretly at the light that resonates from the man he has raised and that encompasses his beloved adoptive child. Straightening, he bids them goodnight, steps into the elevator, and disappears into the Manor for some well-earned rest.

Now it is left to just the two of them. Let the fun begin.

"You _did _tell Clark how much of a jerk he's being, right?" Dick snaps, arms crossed and a scowl painting his face; it is all he can do to keep himself from tapping his foot in agitation. Bruce gives a sidelong glare (though, to be fair, his own sentiments aren't much kinder), and Robin raises his hands defensively. "Well, he _is_!"

And truly, there is nothing on this Earth or otherwise that will make him feel differently. How can he? Seeing Superman treat Superboy so coldly, so indifferently…it makes him so _angry_! If his friend _deserved_ it, that's one thing…but besides being a little volatile, Supey's done nothing but _exist_—!

A hand comes down on his shoulder, and if not for his training he'd have jumped a foot high. He finds a concerned Bruce hovering, and Dick offer a small, apologetic smile.

The older man takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, picking his next words with sensitivity.

"_We've_ seen that, Dick," he acknowledges, sitting down heavily in the about-faced Batcomputer chair, forehead crinkling in frustration as today's events play back in his mind's eye. "Now if only _Clark _could see."

Falling into this familiar step, the thirteen-year-old lets himself fall back into an arch, moving just once per minute until his hands are wrapped around his ankles and his elbows are left supporting his upper body. In an extreme circumstance such as this one, acrobatics helps to keep his focus and accelerate his thinking.

After ten minutes, Dick has had enough.

Flopping out of his pose to be cross-legged on the floor in front of his mentor, he presses, "But _there's_ our problem, Bruce. We can't _force _him. If we push him too far, he'll _never_ accept Superboy for who he is."

With this his guardian can only grimly agree. Kryptonians, after all, have very hard heads.

Abruptly, Dick bestows upon his adoptive Father a very curious look, indeed.

"What happened at the diner anyway?" he asks, eyes flashing knowingly. "_Something _must have happened to set you off tonight."

Bruce stares into the child's bluer-than-blue eyes. Like the man himself, Dick has always had a special bond with Clark, and it goes without saying that both Father and son's opinions of the reporter have dampened as of late. The philanthropist doesn't want to sour his boy's relationship with Clark further with added news of his neglect of Superboy.

However, all these thoughts are halted as his lower arm is taken in a strong, loving grip, and once more Bruce Wayne finds his world turned upside down by the likes of an adoring pixie.

"Bruce," Dick offers a soft, cheeky little grin, "it's okay. Clark's been rather…_whelmed_ lately…" a righteously-dark shadow moves across his face before vanishing, gaze all but piercing his adoptive Father's, "…but he's still my friend as much as he still is yours, right?"

The secret-Batman grins proudly, squeezing the boy's hand and chuckling inwardly at his own expense, for Dick has never been a petty child. Resting his chin on one propped-up fist, he starts his tale.

"Clark was...defensive, _afraid_, Dick. He nearly fled when I brought up Superboy." A difficult breath escapes through his nose. "He's been cloned before, you know that, and every time things have gone wrong, people have been hurt."

"Which explains why he reacted the way he did when he first met Supey," Dick supplies effortlessly. It only makes sense, after all. "And I don't _blame_ him for that, Bruce. If this kind of thing happened to me all the time," he does his best to hide the smirk that comes of Bruce tensing protectively, "I think I'd be reluctant to trust Superboy, too! But I'd give him the benefit of the doubt, a chance to _prove _himself…_anything _to make him feel like I cared! _That's _what gets me so on edge, Bruce." He drives a pointed finger into his palm. "How he's handling it _this_ time around."

Bruce hums softly, half-smirking with pride. His little Boy Wonder truly is growing into a wonderful defender of truth, innocence, and justice. And an even better man.

Reaching out, he rests a firm, steady hand on his protégé's black-haired head, beaming for all it's worth.

"I know you would, son," he breathes warmly, hand falling to caress the child's rosy cheek and to trace the outline of his boyish face.

With this deepest of professions and such genuine devotion riding these actions, Dick can only lean into the touch. The gentle smile that lights his face outshines the moon beyond, the happy teardrops glistening on his eyelashes like the stars themselves.

Grinning lovingly up at Bruce, he reaches up to wipe his eyes and face to find that his guardian has already done so.

_Here_, in all of his Batty-heartfelt glory, is the reason he is who he is today.

Clearing his throat now, he asks, voice still a bit croaky, "What else happened, Dad?"

The secret-Batman releases a short huff of a wry chuckle. "Unfortunately, he bolted before I could say much more. He kept trying to deny that Superboy needs him, saying he's just a reminder of everything the boy's not."

"But he's _also _Superboy's _idol_," Dick asserts, "a reminder of all he _can _be with the right guidance!"

Bruce nods. "I mentioned that, too…" Blue eyes now, a shade darker than Dick's, flick upward to lock on the teen. "And then…"

Reading his meaning immediately, the younger's eyes widen in surprise as he reels back slightly.

"_No way_! You _didn't_!" Bruce's gaze is unwavering, however, and a brilliantly gleeful smile worms its way onto Dick's lips. "You _did_! _You_ played the Dad Card!" He cackles in disbelief; Bruce _never _lays down his trump card unless he really feels he's out of options (and that's only happened twice in their four years)! "Well, what did he say to that?"

A silence settles, and Dick's hopeful outlook vanishes. The quiet is answer enough.

"He didn't, did he?" the child concludes, disappointed beyond all reckoning. "He left…"

And Bruce, though it pains him, cannot bring himself to lie. "Yes."

Dropping his head into his hands, Dick clutches fistfuls of his messy hair, taking the ensuing hush as it comes. Finally, after several minutes the black-haired head lifts, and there is nothing to keep the sad-thoughtful glimmer from those sky-blue eyes.

"What if you'd been like that with me?"

Though incredibly caught off guard, Bruce is careful in his reaction. He stares for a long moment before his forehead crinkles, a deep frown forms, and he voices the question clearly written in his darkened eyes. "What?"

"I mean, what if you'd left me there, in Juvenile Hall?" Dick clarifies slowly. "What if—" his voice cracks at the mere heart-wrenching thought, and he has to swallow thickly, "—what if you'd never adopted me?"

The older man's eyes narrow in remembrance. He's pondered such a thing at length, how different everything would be without his little Bird, and every time he nearly can't take what he sees. Dispelling these cruel deliberations from his mind with a few stubborn shakes of the head, he turns his attention back to his son.

"Dick…why would you ask something like that?" he inquires calmly, curiously, though Dick easily detects the hanging note of worry.

The gypsy stalls before answering, reaching up to take one of the man's hands and squeeze soothingly. "It's just… If—if I'd been left to my own devices back then the way Supey is now…if I'd been left _alone_..." the knees drawn up to his chest are held tighter, the grip on Bruce's hand increasing as well; if there is anything he hates in all the world, it's being all alone, "…I wouldn't be the person I am now."

Bruce reaches down to stroke his son's hair slowly, comfortingly, hoping to take away as much of Dick's remembered fear and pain as possible.

Though he himself had had Alfred, the only surviving member of the Wayne family vividly recalls the crushing, world-swallowing loneliness he felt the night his own parents were taken from him, Zorro and his adventures forgotten as he cried between their bloody, lifeless bodies in that alleyway.

Movement beneath his hand, and Bruce looks down to see Dick snuggled in between his legs, hands lazily threaded behind his head as he leans back against the man's stomach. Bruce smiles lovingly and continues his ministrations, the child closing his eyes and grinning contentedly.

In the companionable quiet that settles here, a nearly-forgotten piece of his conversation with Clark returns to Bruce.

"You know," he begins, causing Dick to open one eye, "when I told Clark Superboy needed him, he denied it and said Superboy needed _me_, needed _Red_ instead—" The secret-Boy Wonder breaks into a tender, private beam, eyes sparkling with unshared mirth, and earns an amused, questioning glance-pause from Bruce. "Something I should know?"

Dick shakes his head, still grinning. "Nothing, Bruce," he assures, a bit of previously-contained laughter bubbling to the surface. "Only, when you said 'red,' to me it—" the smallest frown and paleness comes to his face, eyes averting, "—it symbolized a lot of things…"

In his mind's eye, he sees his Mother's lips, his circus costume, his parents' blood, the roses on his parents' graves.

"But…" he looks up at Bruce again, smile steadfastly-devoted and eyes bright with both heartfelt tears and a different vitality entirely, "…most of all, it means love and heart. And for me, Bruce, an orphan who had nowhere to go and no one to turn to…" he slips a foot underneath him and pushes himself to his feet, "…as your _son_…" he is none too shy about kissing his adoptive Father on the cheek and wrapping his arms tightly around his neck, "…I've never known anyone with a bigger heart than you."

One hand moving to grasp the thirteen-year-old's head and the other arm enfolding him around the waist, Bruce holds his dear boy to him. He swears no one else in his life has touched him this way, and to know that his son thinks of him so highly is one of the greatest feelings in the world.

As the words settle in his mind and travel down to his heart, where they are engraved with utmost care, Bruce kisses the Grayson child's temple and whispers in his ear,

"Thank you, Dick, for being my son."

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thanks so much for reading, as always!_


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